


Memories While In Paris

by PerfectTragedy



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom England (Hetalia), Domestic Fluff, England Being a Jerk (Hetalia), European Union, Fluff and Angst, FrUK, France Being a Jerk (Hetalia), Historical Hetalia, Hot and Cold, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Memories, Oneshot, POV England (Hetalia), Smoking, Song: Blood - In This Moment, Songfic, Top France (Hetalia), Treaty of Versailles, Wartime, World War I, shall i compare thee to a summer's day?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:34:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24235099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PerfectTragedy/pseuds/PerfectTragedy
Summary: The lengthy, at times unpleasant, history between England and France brought back as memories, all the while being on a balcony in Paris with wet cigarettes from the rain.
Relationships: England/France (Hetalia)
Kudos: 36





	Memories While In Paris

**Author's Note:**

> This work is heavily inspired by the song "Blood" by In This Moment and the lyrics are peppered throughout the entirety of it. I recommend listening to the song if you enjoy rock/metal. You can go without listening to it, though. :) Enjoy.

A sky broken in grey clouds saluted Arthur mockingly. It's almost as if Paris was cloudy whenever he was around to see it. He shook his head. Perhaps that would keep unwanted thoughts at bay. 

Perhaps.

He flicked ashes of the stress-relief into the ashtray. 

Bringing the damp cigarette to bruised lips, he took a long, heavy drag. Never would he forget to leave the pack of cigarettes on the balcony again. Maybe this was Francis' influence upon the weather after all - for it to rain cats and dogs and ruin the cheap cigarettes Arthur forgot on the table. They were busy with other things anyways. Many other things consisting of the same thing, anyways.

Through the glass of the door to the balcony and grey smoke, Francis slept soundly. Arthur analysed the peaceful look on a face lost in blond, lively curls. After turning around, the image was still stuck in his brain.

** I hate you for the sacrifices you made for me **

** I hate you for every time you ever bled for me **

_ Blazing hot, open wounds bleeding and pain, resentment fuelled by every fallen soldier. The Germans were pushing back as powerfully as all the efforts made on their side. _

_ Angry and scared, wish they were home, far away from the putrid place of mud and heat. _

_ They're here because they're here. _

_ Arthur observed with a glance away from the heavy load of the gun in his dirty, rugged, trembling hands. _

_ Francis wore more blood than he wore that misfortune of a military uniform. A single motivation hanging off his aura, emanated off of his entire being. A look so desperate and murderous in his eye that echoed even beyond the Somme and nothing would stop it.  _

_ His people, his people, his people.  _

_ It was vicious, unforgiving like a forest fire. No more life left to him but hatred, Arthur sensed it in every breath taken. The trenches were eating them alive and the sounds were all he could see and feel. He couldn't hear anything however. Francis was talking, saying something in large heaps of air but the message did not reach his ears. All he knew was that they were going to die.  _

** I hate you for the way you smile when you look at me **

** I hate you for never taking control of me **

_ Their eyes met. Both were still in bandages, supported by canes for broken bones and fake smiles for broken hearts. They both leaned in their crippled ways over the table._

_ "Je suis sûr que ce que j'ai proposé n'est pas trop sévère. Rien n'est trop dur pour lui."  _

_ (I am sure that what I have proposed is not too harsh. Nothing is too harsh for him.) _

_ "Francis," Arthur sighed. "we will never reach an agreement by being this inflexible with our demands." _

_ "Tu te's trompé, cela ne suffit pas. Je vais dormir dans la peur!"  _

_ (You are wrong, this is not enough. I am going to sleep in fear!) _

_ Francis wanted revenge with an insane glint in his eyes. Arthur saw it, yet wanted, of course, his own interests to be fulfilled. They wouldn't be fulfilled if they were to ask for too much. _

_ "Uh, what's the the problem with him?"_

_ Alfred intervened, giving a confused yet intimidating look to the Frenchman while tapping his fingers on the table in an irritated manner. _

_ And Arthur was caught in the middle. _

_ "Écoute moi. Les choses iront mieux, laissez-moi m'en occuper." _

_ (Listen to me. Things will be better, let me take care of it.) _

_ Francis paused his sour expression at once, and smiled. It was sick. Arthur's stomach churned. _

** I hate you for always saving me from myself **

** I hate you for always choosing me and not someone else **

** I hate you for always pulling me back from the edge **

_ And just like that, another swig of miserable champagne ran down his dry throat. And just like that he embraced failure for himself all because he was victorious. Was he? At least the war was over. Thank God for that. Why was he dreaming again? Why were the sequences playing again? _

_ "I know how you're feeling, Arthur."  _

_ A shadow empathised from the sofa across the table. Smoke was spilling into the room and it was all Francis' fault. Dark bags underneath bright blue eyes spoke of nothing. Empty. The bullets left him numb was a guess taken by the Englishman. _

_ "I don't need your support, frog. . ."  _

_ He slurred and gestured, almost tilting the bottle of champagne so it could land in broken bits and pieces on the ground. _

_ "Careful there. As soon as the alcohol is over I'm leaving."  _

_ "I have no doubt about that." _

_ The ashes from the cigarette in Francis' hand spilled like snowflakes on the carpet. _

_ Arthur didn't want to say anything about it. He did anyways. _

_ "Don't ruin my carpet or I'll be the one making you leave. . . Gon' kick your arse." _

_ "Ce n'est pas de ma faute si le tapis recouvre tout le sol."  _

_ (It's not my fault the carpet is covering the entire floor.) _

_ Francis scoffed as he spoke and took another lazy drag. Everything was lazy about him nowadays, Arthur observed. He always counted on analysing his dearest enemy's every move to satisfy his need for entertainment. Yet this was not entertainment, it hurt every bit of soul.  _

_ "Like you know decorating anyways, Francis." _

_ "I used to." he shrugged. "I don't know much anymore." _

_ A pause. Arthur considered. Was an answer expected of him? Took a second to collect his scattered brain. _

_ "Perhaps." _

_ Arthur agreed and denied and gulped down the remainder of champagne. _

_ "Do you feel it too? See it too? Smell it too?"  _

_ He added, looking blankly at a spot somewhere in the distance of his vision. _

_ "Tu es toujours là."  _

_ (You're still there.) _

_ "Je suis là tous les jours." _

_ (I am there every single day.) _

_ Francis left the sofa and inched in to come and see the person barely resembling his lover. Hair was messy and eyes were dark and wrinkles from lack of sleep were visible on this shell of a person. _

_ "Mon amour, mon monde, mon trésor, nous avons quitté cet endroit." _

_ (My love, my world, my treasure, we left that place.) _

_ Francis' hand rose to a concave, pale cheek. His eyes held worry. Arthur hated that. _

_ "I just need time."  _

_ "I know."  _

_ He sighed and his hand fell from its previous place. He dragged a chair next to the other's and looked in those green forest eyes for a second or two or three with the cigarette burning up in his hand. _

_ A promise: _

** I hate you for every kind word you ever said **

_ "Je t'aime, mon coeur." _

_ "Moi aussi."  _

_ Arthur replied, barely. _

** I love you for everything you ever took from me **

** I love the way you dominate when you violate me **

_ Arthur's barely clad body was pushed into the mattress with a thud as it bounced the two partners. Francis grabbed, pulled on his hair roughly and began leaving wet kisses along the other's neck - purple butterflies in favourite spots. _

_ "Francis, fuck--" _

_ He dragged his lips over to Arthur's, feverish arms encircling, racing hearts and a mix of limbs making it difficult to tell the bodies apart. Biting and tearing into the soft of flesh. _

_ Francis pulled away and attained a sadistic smirk upon looking down at his plaything. _

_ Arthur loved it. _

_ A forceful hand grabbed him by the neck, bringing him in the moment. He gasped for air and brought his hands into the other's hair dragging him even closer again. Even more pressure was applied and he was reduced to a noisy mess. To shut him up, Francis covered his mouth as black spots appeared in his vision. On the brink of blacking out, Francis retracted his hand, flipped him around backed up against the perpetrator and pulled on his hair. _

_ "You're being pathetic." _

_ A sound escaped Arthur's trembling, bloody-from-the-biting lips while desperately grasping for air. _

_ "And stop being so loud." _

_ The Frenchman held him by the neck as a lamb ready for slaughter. Arthur knew disobedience best of all so after gathering whatever air was left in the room: _

_ "I. . . Hate . . . You." _

_ He pushed Arthur forcefully into the mattress yet again. _

_ "Somebody really wants to get whipped." _

_ "Oh no, me - never." barely spoken out, still needing oxygen to begin functioning properly again. _

_ "Tu es puni, ma pute."  _

_ (You are getting punished, my whore.) _

** I love you for every time you gave up on me **

** I love you for the way you look when you lie to me **

_ A tired Arthur walked out of the conference building where the latest UN Security Council meeting was held. As soon as he reached the entrance, his eyes fell upon Francis' figure. A bench accommodated him in his flimsy suit and a pack of cigarettes near instead of a scarf or gloves or a proper jacket at least. _

_ It was cold and the sky cracked open with snow, so fitting for the situation they found themselves in. Who even knew how things were going to settle or even if they were going to settle at a close point in time? A developing communist bloc left many nations feeling wary - Arthur was definitely one of them. Francis perhaps had the same wariness to him, but Arthur knew why he was out here, in the cold, providing a blanket only for his lungs. _

_ There was an issue. Mistake. Misunderstanding. _

_ Arthur walked straight towards the problem and was noticed next to immediately. _

_ "Bonjour, Angleterre." _

_ Ice cold, freezing over at the tips of his fingers. Still, he decided to take a seat on the bench and see where it would go. _

_ "Hello, France." _

_ Addressing each other so formally suited them so well, and by well, it is to say that Arthur made good decisions. Irrational. _

_ They sat in silence. Silent and cold.  _

_ "You and America are close." _

_ What a sensational begining to a conversation. _

_ "Yes, that is the case." _

_ "I see." _

_ He knew all about this. They were bound to talk about the elephant in the room. _

_ "I am sorry, France. I cannot share such information with you. It is not safe. Especially at this time. Everything is so unstable--" _

_ "Am I unstable?" _

_ Silence. _

_ "Listen--" _

_ "I am done with listening. All I do is listen. So hear me out now." _

_ Arthur brought this upon himself. It's not as if he wanted to keep information on nuclear weapons a secret from Francis but the times were tumultuous. Regardless, he would never hear the end of it from Alfred. He wanted things secret and he was the only stable foothold in Europe. It would cost them everything to be on his wrong side. _

_ "I respect your decision." _

_ Francis was confusing and that's why he was scaring the living shit out of Arthur. So terrifying, the way he said it, hairs on the back of his neck stood up. _

_ "You will also be respecting my decisions." _

_ Glacial eyes, a beautiful blue, freeing of all Earthly bound aspects, yet frightening.  _

_ "What do you mean--" _

_ "Thank you for this discussion. Goodbye--" _

_ Arthur grabbed him by the wrist. _

_ "Francis, I can't do anything about it." _

_ "Oh, I know." _

_ "No, really--" _

_ "I love you, Angleterre." _

_ The shock made him lose his grip and the Frenchman slipped away into the blurry tornado of snowflakes. _

_ The look Francis gave him, eyes swirling with mild hatred. All that was clear to him was that confessing one's love and walking out on them should not go together. _

_ Francis was a goddamned liar.  _

_ Arthur grabbed the expensive cigarettes left on the bench and pocketed them. His only evidence to a relationship with Francis before all of this. _

** I love you for never believing in what I say **

** I love you for never once giving me my way **

** I love you for never delivering me from pain **

** I love you for always driving me insane **

_ After the collaboration at Suez, Arthur was shocked when he noticed the pattern of rejection in his application to the European Economic Community. _

_ He laid in bed with a storm of heavy rain outside his window, in his cold London apartment. His pride and ego have reached a severely flat level to the point of him actually despising the person responsible for it. _

_ Francis kept him out of his little Western community.  _

_ Big deal. _

_ Arthur threw the thought out of his head, got up and grabbed a bottle from the kitchen in a few collected steps. They probably would not be so collected anymore once he was done with it.  _

_ And with that in mind, he opened it and got hit by a whiff of liquor. This sure will do. A gulp, two, three, put it down, brought it up to his lips once again, one, two, three. _

_ A big deal it was, felt as a betrayal and set his heart off the rails. It was ridiculous. He began thinking that whatever they had - hatred or love - was one-sided. An embarrassment too in the face of many. He would not get accepted into this private club of nations, of Italy, Belgium, the Netherlands and others. Not to be accepted by him. _

_ He cursed Francis. He most decisively cursed him and dialed his number from a crumbled piece of paper and rang him up, talking with his left hand, bottle in his right. _

_ No answer. _

_ No answer. _

_ No answer. _

_ Response. _

_ "What is it, Angleterre? I am busy." _

_ "I bet your moron arse you are. I know exactly what you're doing, keeping me out and off the benefits--" _

_ "Je suis désolé, I am not listening to negativity today." _

_ The call was ended. _

_ Arthur threw the telephone with all its wires ripped directly from the wall right into the opposite one. _

_ A war cry, two, turned into a full breakdown of drinking and smoking and suddenly he was on his balcony with rain pouring down on him and his thousandth cigarette was out of for the past half an hour but he needed the gesture. _

_ Francis broke him down in the best way and he had to physically restrain himself from getting in his car and hitting the road to absolutely destroy him. Yet he would only destroy himself singlehandedly. _

_ And he was too, in that very moment, ruined. _

Arthur pressed the butt of the cigarette into the ashtray and removed himself from the comfortable chair he was sitting on. How come everything was comfortable at Francis' place? 

Paris looked splendid in the new-found sunlight and Arthur took in everything his eyes would capture. Delectate himself in the beautiful complexity of short, narrow streets and endless, wide boulevards. 

Perhaps he should get Francis to help him find a more 'aesthetic' place to live in. 

Perhaps.

So caught in his thoughts, balancing his weight on the edge of the balcony, he didn't hear or see Francis enter his space and wrap his arms around his midsection.

"Hm?"

Francis laughed.

"Good morning." and a kiss on the cheek. "Am I that attractive, Arthur?"

"I'm looking at Paris, not at you."

Arthur looked so serious it made Francis laugh softly yet again, and rest his head upon the other's comfortably.

"Am I your support now?"

"Number one support."

"Oh, fine. I don't have a choice then, I suppose."

The corners of Arthur's mouth gave away a smile.

"You suppose correctly, mon amour."

Francis sighed contemptly.

"You look wonderful basked in sunlight, cher. With so much sun you might even become less deathly pale!"

"You saw me tan before, stop acting as if I never get out of my 'deathly pale' state."

"That is because you get out of your state. It's so gloomy at your place!"

Francis teased, but nothing serious and it was all made up for in small, embarrassing pecks on the top of Arthur's head. His cheeks were burning up.

"Hm. . . Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?" 

Arthur smiled and scoffed yet felt his heart fuzzy warm and beating rapidly. With no other word, he would overtake Francis' plan.

"Thou art more lovely and more temperate: 

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, 

And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;"

Arthur continued as Francis let go of his midsection and was rather willing to face him, watch him undulate every word and every sound to a fault. In a sweet embrace, he listened in.

"And every fair from fair sometime declines, 

By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d; 

But thy eternal summer shall not fade

Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; 

Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade, 

When in eternal lines to time thou growest: 

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,"

"So long lives this, and this gives life to thee."

They recited together and melted in each other's gaze. 

"What a sap you are, Francis dear."

"Mhm, there's two of us here reciting your Shakespeare."

Arthur said nothing else and instead pressed a short and sweet kiss to Francis' lips.

"Now, for breakfast, would you rather I cook or--"

"I hope that is not a serious question, Arthur."

"Well, I am using up your time so might as well be of help--"

"Stick to your literature, mon lapin."

And so Arthur let the Frenchman to his talents all the while becoming a morning radio - reciting literature off the top of his head, with the background of breakfast's enticing perfume.

What a lovely day.


End file.
